


Contact

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Catharsis, Character Study, Developing Relationship, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk needs a way to work out mental and emotional stress, but Spock's offer may not always be a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the KiSCon 2011 fanzine.
> 
> Acknowledgments: Huge thanks to Arminaa, whose lovely photomanip, [Isolated](http://img841.imageshack.us/img841/3654/isolatedashleyj28.jpg), inspired this story. Go ogle it, even if you already have. (It fits in the last segment of the story, if you're wondering. ;)) Many thanks to my husband for the initial beta.
> 
> Fessing up: This version is not exactly as it appeared in the zine. I have removed some third-party edits I'd missed that conflicted with continuity, grammar and/or the editorial limits I'd expected. I have also nibbled at the story for better flow.
> 
> Timeline: I have used the Memory Alpha episode order for guidance in structuring this story. I am pretty hopeless at interpreting stardates without massive amounts of help, and the episodes were aired in a different order from what might originally have been conceived by the show's creators.

For the third time tonight, James T. Kirk flies across the room at his opponent's discretion. For the third time tonight, he gives thanks for the pain upon landing. It remains for him the strongest reminder of the life and vitality that so nearly was lost this day. Not that such risk is abnormal. There's been quite a spate of close calls of late, even for their job description. And there have been losses. Many losses, both of his own crew and of people he's known and valued for years. It's just that he can't remember ever having come so close to losing Spock, whom he now sends flying with an ease and vigor he's never managed before.

  
_*~~~~~One year earlier~~~~~*_   


Spock first suggested the idea of combat as mental purgative after the transporter accident around Alpha 177.

"Thanks, Spock, but ... no thanks."

"Captain, it would be ... imprudent to refuse."

Kirk stuck to the corner, fussing at a statue that should have meant something to him and didn't. "Explain," he said, woodenly.

From somewhere behind and to the left, Spock exhaled.

On Spock's intake of breath, Kirk huffed. "Let me guess – the crew wants to take a swing at me and you're the designated hitter."

"In a manner of speaking," said Spock. "Doctor McCoy has noted a tendency towards ill temper, Nurse Chapel reports seeing you talking to yourself, Mr. Scott sent me a written inquiry concerning his status as Chief Engineer, and Lieutenant Uhura became concerned when you ... rearranged her console."

Kirk winced and flexed his still bruised left hand. "Yes.... I owe her an apology. I'm surprised she didn't call security."

"Indeed."

Kirk knew that that really meant, 'No, she called me, instead.' He rubbed his forehead and pinched his face. It was tiring, calming that wolf inside him. Tiring and tedious. "What about you?"

"Captain?"

"Don't play dumb with me," Kirk snapped.

The stillness in the room was instant and absolute.

Kirk felt like a bastard, through and through. And his bad half was being defiant about it. He wanted to apologize, but all he could manage was, "What have you observed about me, now that I'm ... back?" He still couldn't turn around, but he thought he could hear a rising eyebrow.

"I have noticed a certain ... lack of balance, of late."

"And you think that would make me a suitable sparring partner?"

"I have observed that you become focused during and after combat."

The wolf laughed inside and said, 'You wanna see focus? You won't be able to see anything when I'm done with you! Too bad... Great eyes...' The sheep said, "I really don't think it's a good idea, Spock."

"You will not hurt me, Jim."

The wolf squashed the sheep. "You think I can't do you any damage?"

"I did not say that," said Spock, quietly.

Both of Kirk sighed, for different reasons. "All right, Spock. It's your funeral." He strode past Spock, fighting every urge to push him out of the way.

In the gym, stripped down to regulation exercise pants and noting Spock's choice not to wear his usual long-sleeved top, Kirk began to look forward to the match. "What's the matter, Spock? Too hot for you?" He gave the air a couple of preparatory jabs.

"Quite the contrary. If I may persuade you to quicken your readiness to engage—"

Kirk knocked Spock flat on the ground. "Quick enough for you?"

"It is an adequate beginning." Spock feinted left and took a bending Kirk down with a right cross.

After that, it was a glorious, half-hour melee that left the wolf grinning and the rest of him sated with sweat and physical pain. He looked at Spock and noticed for the first time the ooze of green from just under the eye. He reached towards it without thinking.

Spock flinched just enough to dodge Kirk's fingers. "I am undamaged."

"You need to see McCoy." Kirk dropped his hand. "I'm sorry, Spock. And thank you...." He bit off repeating 'from both of us'.

As he picked up a towel, he noticed the gooseflesh on Spock's arm. Throwing the towel over Spock's shoulders, he said, "Time to hit the showers," and headed for the changing room before Spock could object.

*****

The events of Psi 2000 took a strange toll on the crew. Everyone was on edge, either mortified or trying to pretend they weren't, and tamping tempers wasn't easy, especially when everyone knew how badly out of hand things had already been during the first pass of those three days. Even though the cure had been administered, the hyper-vigilance of the crew was perfectly understandable to Kirk.

It was just hard facing Spock after backhanding him repeatedly. As much as he needed a good, sane fight, he couldn't bring himself to hit Spock one more time. As for the rest of the crew – well, that wasn't allowed under the best of circumstances.

So he couldn't quite understand it when he found himself buzzing Spock's door.

"Enter."

"Spock, I—oh. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have disturbed you...."

Spock turned from his firepot. "You have not disturbed me. You have enabled me to ascertain your wellbeing without disturbing you."

Kirk found himself caught in Spock's soft gaze. He swallowed. "I'm all right. I guess," he added, when Spock's scrutiny didn't abate. "Just ... restless. Unsettled."

Spock reached toward the firepot, pulling from its glowing center two ampoules made from the same material.

"Spock, your hand!"

"Vulcans have a superior tolerance for heat." Spock rose and tapped each ampoule on its own small glass. He poured the golden liquid from them with a precision that silenced Kirk. Then he turned, glasses in hand, offering one.

Without thinking twice, Kirk took it and lifted it to his lips.

Spock stopped him with a hand. "It is too hot, Jim."

Kirk felt the warmth spread through his arm and fingers from where Spock's hand rested just above his wrist. It soothed him, calming some of the restless hurt of the loss of crew and control. He relaxed a little into Spock's touch and felt the warmth spread further.

It felt strange when he knew that the time was right to drink the substance without so much as a glance at, sound or vibration from Spock, and then found himself sipping the stuff in perfect synchronization with a man he'd once thought as out of reach as the next galaxy. All he knew at the end of it was that he felt a sense of tranquility that he'd never been able to feel except after great sex or a great fight, and maybe not even then. "What was that, Spock?"

"It is a proprietary mixture of herbs and berries found on Earth and Vulcan that my father perfected."

"And he gave you the recipe?"

"No."

"So ... is it safe for humans?"

"My mother has consumed it ninety-five times during my lifetime. To my knowledge."

"And, uh, she's still with us?"

"She has never been 'with us', Captain. She is on her way to—"

"Never mind, Spock. So how does your father make herbs and berries from Earth and Vulcan glow like that? Or do they just do that naturally on Vulcan?"

"Great pressure and heat are applied within stone vials exactly two point three-seven microns thick when compressed by—"

"Okay, okay," laughed Kirk. He thought he saw the sting flicker in Spock's eyes and squeezed the nearest shoulder to ease things between them. "I'll just enjoy the feeling like I'm supposed to do. I ... am supposed to, right?"

"My mother calls the elixir 'Happy Juice'."

If Kirk had had any of the substance left in his mouth, he'd have choked on it. He nearly did, anyway. "Happy juice?"

"Yes. She states that it relaxes her, especially when combined with a therapeutic massage of her latissimus dorsi." Spock shifted.

Kirk looked at Spock, wondering what had prompted the display of discomfort and quelling his hope of a nice, painful massage.

"I believe that you have been overly tense, of late." Spock sounded even more uncomfortable than he did when dealing with issues of emotion.

"It was a rather trying three days," said Kirk, carefully.

Spock exhaled what sounded like a sigh. "My mother praised me for my ability to ease certain muscle groups that she could not reach, herself."

Kirk felt his eyes widen. "Are you offering me a back rub?"

"I believe I stated that."

A back massage from strong, relentless fingers might be better than the fight Kirk had longed for. It was all he could do to contain his greed for it. "Thank you, Spock. I might just take you up on it. But only if you're sure...."

"I am."

Kirk bit his lip to keep from stating his disbelief. "Okay, where do you want me, and how?"

Spock's eyes, to his credit, didn't widen. But the lids stiffened, which nearly made Kirk break down into fits of laughter.

"Tell you what: why don't I just sit down over here?" Kirk waved at a chair. "Unless you'd rather I took your meditation spot...?"

"That might prove more convenient," said Spock.

Kirk shook his head and sat on the floor where Spock had been. There was a moment of awkwardness before he felt Spock settle behind him, but then the feel of warm, skilled fingers on his neck and shoulders made him forget the strangeness of this form of intimacy between them. "Ohh-hhh! Your mother was right...."

"Yes."

*****

Following the tragic encounter with the Romulans, Kirk wanted nothing more than to beat the crap out of someone. But then he remembered Tomlinson's steady, competent presence and Martine's courage in facing his death, and he couldn't dishonor either of them like that. Nor could he disrespect Spock, whose quiet dignity in the face of Stiles' bigotry and the impatience of Captain and crew put them all to shame. Which made him want to hit someone, again. He was contemplating putting a fist through the wall when the buzzer assaulted him. "Come!"

Spock stepped hesitantly, placing one boot point inside Kirk's cabin. "Have I interrupted a crucial procedure?"

Kirk rubbed a hand over the side of his face, letting the impending stubble rasp at his palm. Sometimes it felt good to forget the depilatory. "Not at all, Spock. Come in." _Get out._ "Have a seat." _I need to be alone, or I may kill you. Someone. Else._

Spock remained at the door. "My query is trivial, Captain. Your need for rest is—"

"—not going to be solved by sending you away." Kirk sighed in recognition of the truth of it. "Please, Spock. Take a load off." He gestured to the visitor's chair.

"I am unsure that I can ease your mind by 'a load', but I shall endeavor to do so." Spock moved towards the chair. "Although I am not sure how my occupying this chair will remove undue burden from you."

Kirk's hand snaked over the top and down the back of his own head, grabbing the back of his neck as an anchor. He had to admit it was an effective way to avoid actually hitting someone. "That expression refers to reducing the load on the recipient's feet."

Spock's eyes gleamed for a split second.

Kirk ignored it. "So what's your question?"

"It is more ... a request." Spock fell silent for a short eternity.

"Well?"

Spock ignored Kirk's impatience. "Yes. I wish to learn how to play poker."

Kirk blinked. And again. "Poker?"

"Yes."

"I taught you the basics right after that incident with the Fesarius, didn't I?"

"Yes. However, the basics do not enable one to win. I require instruction in the art of the bluff."

"I'll ... see what I can do." Kirk fished out his deck of cards. "Five-card draw?"

"If that is most convenient for you."

Kirk eyed Spock. "Too easy for you?"

"I am familiar with the mechanics of all varieties of draw, stud, community and Antarean forms of the game."

"Of course you are, Mr. Spock. Five-card draw. You can beat me at Confound the Tellarites later."

"Very well."

Kirk shook his head and shuffled the cards, holding Spock's gaze as he put the deck face down on the table between them. "Cut."

Spock did, looking Kirk calmly in the eye.

Kirk dealt the cards and placed the draw pile on the table. "You sure you need this? Looks to me like you've got the poker face down pretty well."

"Poker face?"

"Yes, Spock. That impenetrable glare of yours is perfect. Nobody knows what you're thinking."

"Vulcans do not glare."

The only way Kirk could keep from laughing was to let the smile spread slowly across his face. "Of course not."

*****

Halfbreed.

He had used it. Had programmed Spock to respond by using the one word he never would. It had worked, of course, but he didn't ever remember feeling quite so sick in the soul. Maybe if he could get Spock to spar with him, hit him a few times....

He shook his head, but it didn't clear enough. "That'd just make everything worse," he muttered.

In the gym, he sparred with the punch ball. It was the maximum combat that McCoy would allow him, and it gave him a chance to improve his strategy and footwork without hitting a crewmember. He thought it was working out quite well—

"Captain, I—"

Kirk found himself on the floor, knocked down by the ball on its way back from a strongly thrown, misdirected punch. "Spock," he said, with his best imitation of aplomb, "What can I do for you?" He started to rise, but his limbs didn't quite work as he expected.

Spock had a hand under Kirk's elbow immediately. "I believe that Doctor McCoy advised you to avoid such activity for twenty-four hours."

"Standard procedure after a brush with a giant android."

But Spock didn't let go at Kirk's quip.

And Kirk found his own hand resting on Spock's arm, in the crook of his elbow. "Spock?"

"I wished to apologize for taking you to task for your choice of words, earlier. It was inappropriate."

"No." Kirk's other hand found its way to Spock's free upper arm. "No, I'm sorry. I should have found another way to deal with the situation. Race hatred is no way to send a signal."

"On the contrary. From one who never succumbs to such prejudice, it is a very efficient code."

"Perhaps, but..." Kirk found himself stroking Spock's arm, absently.

"Perhaps we should accept one another's apologies and agree to disagree?" Spock's hand closed gently on Kirk's elbow.

Kirk looked up into eyes full of expression and let himself enjoy the odd, lopsided embrace. "Agreed, my friend." He let go before Spock did, and felt a stab of regret at the flicker in Spock's eyes.

*****

_"Not when you've sat in that room...."_

Kirk didn't want to be alone. Not ever again. He refused to give himself time off after Van Gelder, which McCoy allowed, but with a worried look. He spent more time touring the ship in his off hours, even spending time in the mess. McCoy was going to put him on steamed grass if he didn't stop overindulging.

It was when he hadn't slept for fifty-two hours that he tripped over Uhura's foot and landed on the floor, sprawled between her and Spock. "Sorry," he said, righting himself as he heard Spock coming towards him. "Are you all right, Lieutenant?"

"I'm fine, Captain, but what about you?"

"I'm perfectly all right, thank you."

"Captain," said Spock, near Kirk's left ear.

"Yes, Mr. Spock, about that urgent matter you called me to discuss..."

"The situation has developed and is now eyes and ears only."

Kirk experienced a sinking feeling. "Of course. Pardon me, Lieutenant." He smiled at her as she pulled her beautiful feet tightly under her chair.

"Deck five," said Spock, once the turbolift doors closed.

"That bad?"

"Yes."

Spock's tone left no room for further discussion until they arrived at the door to his quarters. "Please sit down," he said, as he took his own seat behind his desk.

Kirk did as Spock asked, albeit grudgingly.

"Doctor McCoy has informed me of his concern for your physical and emotional states and asked me to discuss the matter with you."

"Why didn't he come to me himself?"

"His exact response was, 'If I tell him, he'll just tell me to mind my own business and go find someone who's really sick.'"

Kirk nodded. "So, what? You're going to relieve me of duty if I don't get some sleep?"

"Under Section—"

"Yes, yes, I get it." Kirk sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"Captain, are you aware of how long it's been since you slept?"

"Um ... day? Day and a half?"

"Fifty-two point four seven hours."

"Oh."

"It has also been forty-nine point five three hours since you were last alone."

"Doesn't feel like it." The sound of his own voice around those words brought the hard knot of pain into full being.

"Jim."

The velvet warmth of that voice wrapped around his name struck Kirk right between the eyes. He felt the prickle of unwelcome tears somewhere deep inside.

"If you will permit me, I can help."

"How?"

"I can initiate a mental touch that will help to settle the mind and allow you to sleep."

"Uh ... all due respect, Spock, but after Van Gelder, I don't really want anyone poking around in my mind."

"Understandable. However, this touch would merely reinvigorate the pathways damaged by Van Gelder's apparatus and allow you to re-balance your thoughts."

Kirk gave Spock a wry smile. "You going to tuck me in?"

"If necessary," said Spock, oozing distaste.

"Is it?" Kirk didn't relish the desperation in his voice.

Spock calculated him for a long moment. "No."

Kirk didn't know why he was assailed by disappointment. "Okay, so you ... do whatever you do and I just walk out of here and take a nap?"

"I did not say that. It would be better if we performed the meld in close proximity to where you plan to sleep. It produces a certain lassitude...."

Kirk rose. "Good thing there's a shortcut." For the first time, he led Spock through the adjoining bathroom into his quarters.

*****

He sat in his chair – the Captain's Chair, it reminded him – images and sounds of his friends crying out, calling, pleading, torturing him. There was Scotty, fussing over his engines and saving countless lives. There were Spock and McCoy fighting, goading, cooperating, respecting each other just weeks ago on Miri's planet as they saved the ancient children and each other. The memory of Spock showing such tenderness towards McCoy when the doctor had taken the experimental cure and lay near death made Kirk choke as he started to pull himself away in order to make that ultimate decision to sacrifice three of the finest officers in the Fleet – three of the best men he would ever know.

And then came Sulu's voice, urgently calling his attention to a flare holding a lateral line. He poured himself into every shred of hope and willed them all back to the _Enterprise_.

He sat in his office, remembering Spock's offer of help after Van Gelder's torture chamber and the extraordinary experience of being joined like that to another mind. And yet, for all that he had feared the intimacy of such an experience, he'd found himself disappointed by its distance. Spock's presence had been comforting but professional, which, on balance, had been a good thing. Kirk had been keenly aware of Spock's ability to delve anywhere he chose, had he wished to, and that realization had unnerved him until Spock sent a clear sense of barriers and the respecting thereof. Two minutes in, he'd found out later, and he was deeply involved in the best sleep he'd ever had.

He came back to the present with a prick of conscience and went to Spock's door.

There was no answer.

Kirk found Spock in the gym, body tensed and looking so still that he wondered if he should call McCoy.

But then Spock's right hand moved a millimeter to the right and mesmerized Kirk. He was always fascinating to watch, but the smooth, tightly controlled movements of Vulcan martial art training were breathtaking. Especially when performed by hard, graceful sinew under stretched-velvet skin.

Kirk shook his head, shaking out the thought. _He hasn't even changed clothes._ That realization caught him up, and he remembered why he'd come looking for Spock, in the first place. "Spock, I—"

 _"Captain? Captain...._ Jim!"

It took a moment – maybe a month – to come out of the blackness. It took another moment – maybe a year – to remember where and when he was. "Sorry, Spock, I didn't mean to startle you" came out as "Nngmphhh...."

"Spock to Sickbay...."

"Be-belay that," Kirk managed. "I'm all right."

"Sickbay. McCoy, here."

Spock eyed Kirk.

"I'm okay."

Spock offered a hand, which Kirk took. "I apologize, Captain. I should have McCoy check my hearing—"

"McCoy is right here," said the intercom. "What the hell is going on, Spock? Jim?"

"It's all right, Bones. Just a ... freak accident. Minor contusions. I'll be fine."

"Well, I'm busy right now, but you're reporting here in one point two hours or I'm relieving you of command. Not to mention your medical license, _Doctor_ Kirk."

"Will do, Bones. Kirk out." He hit the button before McCoy could reply.

And then he realized that he was still holding onto Spock's hand. He started to let go.

Spock tightened his grip.

Kirk brought himself back to vertical and removed his hand from Spock's. Then he laid his freed hand on Spock's shoulder. "Rough first command."

Spock stiffened under Kirk's hand. "I performed unsatisfactorily."

Kirk squeezed Spock's arm and let go. "No, you didn't. You just went through your first real Kobayashi Maru test. The one where you don't get to see the crew get up and do it all again."

It was Spock who looked away.

Kirk resisted the temptation to touch him. "Nothing I can say will ease the pain, Spock," he said, as close to him as the situation permitted. "It never hurts any less, but the good ones learn from their mistakes."

"I do not know what mistakes I made."

The pained confusion in Spock's voice tugged at Kirk's heart. "That's what debriefings are for."

Spock nodded.

"It's a long time 'til eleven hundred."

"Fifteen hours, thirty-four minutes, forty-two seconds."

Kirk's hand went automatically to Spock's shoulder, curling and resting over it. "An eternity. Want to spar?"

Spock all but flinched, locking his hands behind his back. "I believe that that would not be wise, Captain."

"Okay, then how about you teach me some of those moves of yours?"

"'Moves', Captain?"

"You know, that Vulcan martial art stuff you were doing when I came in before you knocked me out."

Spock sighed, annoyance suffusing his blank expression.

Kirk stripped off his tunic and removed his boots. "Come on, Spock. It'll get your mind off tomorrow and give me a greater advantage in the field."

It was calculated and a low blow, but Spock's face relaxed after a couple of seconds. "I recommend that you stand one point five meters behind me."

"I think I can manage that." Kirk set himself in place.

"Your precision is excellent," said Spock, without turning to look.

"Thank you."

It was like Taijiquan, only the movements were infinitely slower and designed for Vulcan joints and tendon attachments. This meant that after half an hour, Kirk was sweating profusely and fighting the urge to give up and report to Sickbay early. But he would continue with the session for as long as Spock permitted, because he was now required to keep his eyes on those fluid sinews, those graceful movements of biceps and deltoids, those electrifying contractions of latissimus dorsi, that glorious definition of spinal furrow that appeared whenever Spock drew his arm back.

"Forgive me, Captain."

Kirk looked up, caught. "What for?"

"I allowed this to go on too long for a beginner."

"I'm not exactly a beginner, Spock. When do we start working on the lower body?" Kirk's back swore at him.

"You are a most proficient exponent of nearly every form of combat, but this level of practice is not expected even of Vulcan students new to L'tan."

"In other words, I did well for a human."

"Yes."

Kirk smiled and clapped Spock on the shoulder. And then he became aware of muscles he hadn't known he possessed. "Ahh! Oh, god, McCoy's going to have a field day...."

"If you will permit me, Captain...." Spock moved his hand towards the back of Kirk's upper arm.

Kirk turned to accommodate the offer. "Oh! Ah.... Mm...hunh ... fff!"

Spock moved around and started on Kirk's back.

"Uh ... when do we get to do this again?"

"In three days, if our duties and schedules permit."

"Three days? What if I need it tomorrow?"

"Jim, even Earth culture recognizes the need both for adequate training before applying a new combat technique and adequate intervals between lessons."

Kirk grinned. _At least you loosened up enough to call me 'Jim'. Mission accomplished._ "Quite right, Mr. Spock. I stand corrected."

"Yes." Spock probed a tendon near Kirk's right elbow. "I'm afraid you will require one of Doctor McCoy's potions for this."

Kirk groaned.

"I regret having caused such a necessity."

"Huh? Oh, no, Spock, that was a happy noise. You should open up a massage parlor."

"I believe that is the first time that suggestion has been made." Spock cleared a knot and eased the tendon back into place.

Kirk smirked. "No doubt."

He grasped Spock's arms when they faced each other again, suddenly serious. "Look, Spock ... no matter how things go tomorrow, I'm really ... really glad we got you back."

It was a long time before Spock came out with a husky, "Thank you, Jim."

Kirk could say nothing more and ripped himself gently away.

*****

Nothing had prepared him for Spock's betrayal.

But when he thought about it, Kirk realized he should have been prepared. Spock was motivated by loyalty. He'd served with Chris Pike for eleven years, four months, five days. Kirk knew he'd never forget that statistic, now.

But all of that logic didn't change the hurt of it. And it didn't help that his jealousy polluted the thrill of what Spock's actions implied for the future. So as he rolled to his feet for the fifth time in three minutes, he felt the huge satisfaction of seeing Spock keep his reluctant promise to fight Kirk hard. Not that Spock ever let him win, exactly, but there were times when it was easier than it should have been.

Kirk feinted and went in under Spock's arm, catching him just under the center of gravity. This time, he didn't make his usual mistake of assuming that Spock's density was equal to his own.

The arc Spock made as he slipped, helpless, over Kirk's back satisfied Kirk even more than the satisfying thump of his landing.

His satisfaction bumped into a wall when Spock threw him there, and for whatever reason he'll never figure out, he was angry. Before he knew it, he was raining blows on Spock. He didn't stop until Spock was lying under him, pinned and panting and unresisting. Bleeding.

Kirk wished the blood was red. He gazed down at Spock, unclenching his fist as Spock's expression drained the fight out of him. He traced a trail of green from the corner of Spock's mouth. "Better get that seen to," he murmured, cupping Spock's face.

He bolted before Spock could reply.

*****

He got it out of his system on the next planet they discovered. Everyone called it The Shore Leave Planet. Not even the Caretaker gave it a name. For Kirk, it was a glorious medley of fighting and sex – a glut of release – so he expected everything to be back to normal when he boarded the _Enterprise_ at the end of their stay.

It wasn't. He was more relaxed, but when he first saw Spock, his heart leapt in his chest and he knew that he was in trouble. Fortunately, nobody had to know that his lust-tinged smile as they broke orbit was largely due to the proximity of his First Officer.

He was grateful for the flurry of activity over the next few weeks, and for the fact that he had enough fighting to satisfy his inner wolf without having to seek it from those he knew. Though Spock had accepted his apology after Talos IV, Kirk remained unsettled in a corner of his mind. Perhaps sparring as emotional release wasn't such a good idea, after all.

So he couldn't quite understand why the fights with Trelayne and the Gorn and Lazarus – all formidable opponents in their respective ways – had felt so tedious. Or why he always seemed to find himself in a Vulcan's personal space. Or why he hadn't found Yeoman Barrows as fetching as she clearly was. Or why, despite his hatred of confinement, he had been suspiciously fond of his time in the prison cell on Beta III. He booked a training session with Sam Ellis as soon as he returned to the ship, after that mission.

He'd expected tedium on Eminiar VII – the entire crew loathed diplomatic missions – but even the unusual step of desanitizing a war of half a millennium hadn't quite engaged him as it should.

And then came Khan. Fighting with Khan wasn't tedious. It was terrifying. The man wasn't as strong as Ruk had been, but he was infinitely more dangerous. It had been a battle of wit and will, as much as body, and Kirk had won only because he understood his time and people better than his enemy had. Much as he wanted to, as he applied McCoy's ointment to his bruises, Kirk couldn't dismiss Spock's somber question about the seed that he'd planted by marooning Khan on Ceti Alpha V.

He only just managed to resist bugging Spock for a game of chess.

He got drunk with McCoy to stave off reliving the suffocation of his Bridge crew – or the light in Spock's eyes at seeing him alive in the decompression chamber.

*****

"Spock, let me in. Please." He knew Spock could hear him. He also knew that Spock would probably not allow him to beg in public, as it would be bad for ship's morale. But right now, he wasn't too sure of anything. He'd never seen Spock so withdrawn.

The door slid open. Even its swoosh seemed subdued. Kirk poked his head in first, looking around.

Spock was standing in front of his desk. "Captain?"

Now that he was in, Kirk couldn't remember what business he'd thought he had invading Spock's privacy. He took his words from Spock, from weeks and at least a layer of friendship ago: "Are you all right?"

Spock's breath was measured. "I am functional."

Kirk's chest sank, inside, and he moved closer. "I'm sorry, Spock." Close enough to touch.

"There is no need for apologies." The words were soft and hollow in their pain.

Kirk reached, then, and rested his hand on Spock's arm. A shimmer went through him, and he felt Spock's breathing quicken. "Do you want to spar?"

"No!" The word was quiet and tinged with pain.

Before he could think, Kirk had his other hand on Spock's free arm and was stroking it, as if to calm him. The shimmer from earlier – light through a soul – pressed into him. "I've missed you ... the last few weeks."

"I have been here."

It was a reproach, Kirk knew. Or at least he felt it was, in his bones. "I know," he murmured, looking down through the core of the universe.

_"I don't belong anymore."_

It rippled through Kirk's body as a physical thing, and his hand was on Spock's face. "Yes, you do."

For just a moment, Spock's hand covered Kirk's. "Jim." It was quiet. Soft. A caress. So sad.

As the tears gathered, Kirk's hand was lifted away and held for a different moment. He inclined his head ever so slightly toward the bathroom door. "I'm right there, if you need me."

"I know."

The shimmer changed and made Kirk step back, even as Spock held his hand for that extra fraction of a second.

And then the connection was ended and Kirk was out in the corridor, removing a drop of moisture from his cheek.

*****

Everything was gray.

Even her silky hair and warm, almond eyes.

The world was dull and numb and ash.

So was he.

He chose not to remember his name, but she kept saying it over and over in his head.

He chose not to remember hers, but he kept repeating it, letting it flow through his head and mouth as it sent sparks of light into the gray.

Gray sparks that should have been gold.

He felt himself falling and wondered for that brief, eternal moment if this was what it felt like to die of grief.

If so, he thought, it didn't seem that bad. He'd feel lucky, if he could feel.

Cold, gray, dull stabs of pain.

Warmth.

A thread of silver and the sound of birds.

An invitation. "You could come with me for a rest. You would feel comfortable there."

"I loved her." It was his voice, he thought.

"No woman was ever loved as much, Jim."

_Because no woman was ever offered the universe for love._

He realized that Spock had said it exactly as he thought it.

There was a touch – a hand on his shoulder. A caress. A reminder of another uncertain soul that was too important to forget.

"Spock...." It might have come out as 'Edith'.

He reached from the depths to cover that hand with his own.

He could feel.

It hurt when Spock was there.

It hurt more when Spock was gone.

*****

After the horror of Deneva, the last thing in the world Kirk wanted to do was to inflict more injury on someone who'd already endured so much pain and psychic intrusion. And yet, when Spock offered himself as sparring partner, Kirk couldn't make himself refuse. He realized when he landed his first blow and saw Spock's difficulty getting up that he should have noticed Spock's exercise shirt and pallor before they began. This time, when he reached to help Spock rise, he didn't accept Spock's flinch of refusal.

And then he found himself sprawled on his back on the floor, wondering for a second what had happened. "Nice throw, Spock. Want to switch to—" He was going to say 'wrestling', but Spock's expression changed his mind. "Chess?"

Spock met his gaze.

"I'm not on my game," said Kirk.

Spock raised a brow.

"Physically," Kirk added.

"I see," said Spock, dryly.

Kirk offered his hand. "Truce?"

"That would be acceptable," said Spock, as he rose and pulled Kirk easily to his feet.

Kirk wasn't on his chess game, either. In move after move, as he saw his pieces taken down, he thought of Sam and Aurelan, of Peter's lucky escape. Each time a bishop fell, he was reminded of Spock's ordeal of pain and blindness, and of how brash and stupid he, Kirk, had been.

"Jim."

The quiet voice entered Kirk's consciousness.

"I am sorry."

Kirk looked up to see Spock's unguarded care. In his mind, he got up abruptly to leave, thanking Spock for the aborted matches of combat and strategy and making some excuse about how McCoy would threaten him with some of his worst pills if he didn't get a full night's sleep. "We fought the last time we saw each other."

Spock's expression opened.

"I promised Aurelan I'd visit – teach Peter a few tricks of flying, even though Sam hated the idea."

"The inculcation of knowledge in one's progeny can be a contentious issue."

Spock's solemn tone lightened Kirk's mood, a little. "You speak from experience, I take it?"

"Yes."

Kirk smiled and shook his head. "We didn't argue about that. Not that last time, anyway. I kept on promising and canceling. Duty before privilege.... And then we literally bumped into each other on Starbase 12. We just had time for lunch before I had to go meet the _Enterprise_ for the first time. He asked me why I hadn't come to visit at Christmas, like I said I would." He paused. "I forgot. Even before my Captain's commission came through, I'd forgotten my promise to visit them. He ripped me apart." He passed a hand over his eyes, dealing with fatigue and tears in one swipe.

And then Spock's hand was on his, grounding him.

He tried to pull away. "I'm sorry, Spock...."

"There is no shame in weeping for a brother's loss."

Kirk looked up, startled to see a haunted look disappearing from Spock's eyes. "You speak from experience?"

"It is ... a concept understood and shared in Vulcan consciousness."

"But never spoken of..."

"No." Spock squeezed Kirk's hand ever so slightly.

Kirk turned his hand palm up, stretching his fingers along Spock's wrist to relieve the cramp he hadn't known he had.

The fleeting lull in the cycle of engine noise and ship activity made Spock's sharper intake of breath audible.

Kirk smiled, ruefully, and squeezed Spock's hand between both his own. He bit down on words.

"You have suffered much loss, of late." Spock's voice was rough, tentative.

 _"It's just part of the job"_ came out as, "Yes."

Spock picked up Kirk's upper hand, enclosing it the way Kirk had his. He said nothing. The shimmer of contact was enough to tell Kirk that the invitation to Vulcan was open.

*****

The last thing Spock seemed to want from Kirk after the emotional reunion in Sickbay was contact.

Kirk could understand that physical combat was completely off the table. Nobody could have missed the distress in Spock's demeanor, or the relief in his voice and face when he found his Captain alive again. But after going over the logs and personal reports of all those even remotely connected with the events on Vulcan, Kirk all but ached for his friend – which did nothing to interfere with the warm glow blooming inside as he snooped.

So it was a bit disconcerting when Spock chose to minimize their contact outside of work. It wasn't until Matt Decker got killed by the planet eater – and Kirk nearly went the same way – that Spock invited him to another game of chess. It was noteworthy for two things: Spock pored over every move about twice as long as usual, and Kirk won. Handily.

And then there was Nomad. For some reason, Spock chose to hover after that. A visit to McCoy's office armed with a bottle of the doctor's favorite Bourbon and the need-to-know boilerplate revealed that Nomad had fried certain parts of Spock's psychic mechanisms that Kirk couldn't remember when tired and tipsy, and that the Enterprise's First Officer was, therefore, a basket case.

But when Kirk sobered up, and accidentally bumped into Spock during a spar with Sam Ellis, it became clear that Spock was clinging, more than hovering, and that he was missing a core part of his ability to manage his emotion center. Kirk reworked the schedule that night and set Spock to research the upcoming mission to Halka.

Spock didn't quite buy that it required his undivided attention for two shift periods.

Kirk prevailed.

And then he was the one hovering after losing Hendorff, Kaplan, Mallory and Marple – and almost Spock, several times over – to Vaal. In one of his more self-pitying moments, he considered insisting that Starfleet do away with red uniforms, or at least that they be reassigned to Command-track personnel. He knew that he'd gone too far when McCoy spluttered and told him he was being an idiot.

Spock just folded his arms and glared.

*****

There were things that Kirk began to notice as the dust cleared from his detour through the looking glass.

When he looked at Uhura, he saw her lithe muscles moving under her dress, where the fabric shouldn't be.

When he looked at Sulu, he saw the ugly gash that wasn't there. Depending on his dreams the night before, he was either shivering inside at the memory of a ruthless man with a gluttony for cruelty, or profoundly grateful for the presence of _his_ Sulu.

Chekov confounded him. He wondered if he should cultivate the man's aggression a bit more – teach him how to channel it into a career advantage. But there were red flags when he remembered the I.S.S. _Enterprise_ , and he pushed the idea from his mind.

He noticed the great similarity and vast chasm between Spocks. Both reasoned. Both had no use for waste or power without purpose. Neither was effusive. Neither desired command – a fact that Kirk found interesting and confusing, especially in the mirrored universe.

However, when it became necessary to use force, his Spock found it distasteful while the other relished it. His Spock was gentle, deferential where the other was domineering. Although when Kirk thought about it, he hadn't thought Spock so gentle at first. The impassioned advice to kill Gary Mitchell still rang in his ears, though less harshly and with deeper knowledge of both men.

Even the physical differences were interesting. The beard was formidable, but it also drew attention to the eyes – probing, curious, guarded enough to be interesting. Kirk noticed that the emotions were in some ways easier to read on the bearded Spock's face. He also noticed that the mental sparring with that Spock gave him a thrill that went straight to his groin. For the first time, he'd found his male, bearded First Officer infinitely more sexually tempting than the beautiful woman in scant clothing that he'd found in his counterpart's quarters.

And looking at him as he lay on the diagnostic bed, Kirk couldn't help but notice the soft, tempting thickness of Spock's lips. He wondered why – or even how – he'd never noticed them on his Spock.

His Spock.

It wasn't safe or wise to think that way about a fellow officer, especially one's First. And while Spock's mirror might have been completely uninterested in women, his Spock had not seemed so indifferent to them.

But there was that look in Spock's eyes when the landing party materialized in their own transporter room – that overt sigh of relief as soon as he laid eyes on Kirk that said he knew that he was looking at his Kirk – that had Kirk turning over in bed to ease a growing, pleasant pressure that he couldn't rationalize or pretend away. And he wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disturbed by the fact that his erection seemed to be less interested in the exotic, bearded Spock than it was in the familiar, smooth-skinned Spock. _His_ Spock. Though, perhaps, 'familiar' might not be quite right.

He groaned as his arousal flared and demanded attention. Sexual impulses were weird. Great, but weird.

*****

Sex was the last thing on his mind on Gamma Hydra IV. Sex wasn't on his mind for a long time afterwards, even after the last tinges of reaction to McCoy's noxious adrenalin potion wore off. His sole focus, once he'd offloaded Stocker, sent the report of Galway's death to her families and finished up all the reports on aging to the point of painful, humiliating death and the knowledge that it would all come again, was Spock.

He entered at the faint permission.

Spock lay on the bed. He looked awful.

Kirk put the tray down on the partition ledge. "I brought you some mint tea."

Spock struggled to raise himself up on an elbow.

"Here, let me...." Kirk sat on the bed with care and helped Spock to sit, placing the pillow and part of himself behind his friend before reaching for the tea. "It's all right. You can lean on me."

Spock took the tea in his bruised hands. "I take it Doctor McCoy sent you to ascertain my wellbeing." The words were slow and labored.

"Not quite. More like, he told me about your ... violent encounters with the Sickbay walls, doors, beds and monitors. He also mentioned your unexpected reaction to the drug." He worked himself more fully onto the bed and his right arm loosely around Spock.

"The worst of it is past," rasped Spock.

"I certainly hope so. Is your tea the right temperature?"

"It is perfect." Spock took a small sip, and his eyes widened in appreciation.

Some hard knot inside Kirk melted, a little. "I'll be sure to let my mother know you liked her mint."

"I am ... most grateful to both of you."

"And I owe you everything." Kirk swallowed the emotion down. "Including an apology for the calumny I heaped on you."

"'Calumny', Captain?"

"Insults. Slander. Lies. Character assassination—"

"I am aware of the meaning. I do not know that you committed the offense you mention."

"I called you traitorous, disloyal and a back-stabber. I accused you of wanting command, when—"

"Yes. I accept your apology." Spock labored at another sip of his tea.

Kirk laughed quietly, giving Spock's shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, my friend."

Spock relaxed, letting out a breath of pain and relief as he sank awkwardly against Kirk. "Thank you, Jim."

Kirk gave a sigh of his own and settled back, caressing his own mug of his mother's special mint tea.

  
_*~~~~~Present~~~~~*_   


Kirk throws himself towards his opponent. He doesn't think of Spock holding a tribble and petting it tenderly. He doesn't think of the way Spock stepped in to help McCoy in the Roman Circus, or the way he risked his family and life for the ship and Kirk's career. He doesn't think of the way he almost lost Spock on Neural, or the way Spock greeted him on his return with such tender quiet or let him decompress without judgment. He doesn't think for the thousandth time of the decision he had to make about which of his two best friends to send to certain death, or how utterly vital Spock has become to him since the Galileo Seven disintegrated half a year ago.

But he notices when he is being held in a tight lock of arms, and he struggles to get out of it, because this is combat. This is—

"Jim."

This is—

"Jim, please...."

This is contact.

"Spock!" His arms go around Spock's naked, sweating shoulders, hand hooking around the taut neck and catching the rapid-fire pulse. He presses his face there, shifting his grip to squash out all possible space between them. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Spock's arms shift and become tender, desperate, pulling him closer than he thought possible. "There is nothing to forgive." It is a kiss of sound against Kirk's ear.

It is less than a second before it turns into a passionate kiss of lips and tongues and thought, and everything changes.

Kirk will never remember the journey from the gym to Spock's quarters, but they are there and removing each other's remaining clothes, never letting the other go untouched even for a second.

And then they are naked and standing pressed together, holding each other as Kirk knows now that they've both longed to do. Kissing as Kirk knows he's never kissed before, and never will again with any other being. Opening their souls to one another, even as they shut out the rest of the universe, because this – _this_ is all that will ever matter.

Kirk pulls back just enough to see Spock's beloved face, and notices those gorgeous, kiss-swollen lips on this Spock – _his_ Spock. He passes a thumb over them, relishing the feel of Spock shivering against him.

And then he comes to his senses. "Spock! You're cold...."

"I will be all right if you will move, Jim." Spock moves against him, making his very impressive erection known to Kirk's.

"My apologies," Kirk says against Spock's lips. He adjusts himself against Spock, unsure how long he'll last. "What do you want to do?" He traces a line of kisses along Spock's jaw, pressing his hard-on more insistently against Spock's.

"I'd have thought that was obvious," purrs Spock in Kirk's left ear.

"Not so much." Kirk kisses Spock deeply, exploring the beautiful mouth as he gets harder by the second.

Spock breaks the kiss and looks at Kirk. "Jim."

"Did anyone ever tell you that your voice is pure sex?"

"No. Jim...."

"Well, it is." Kirk dives for Spock.

"Mmmm.... Ah, Jim!" Spock capitulates for a moment, reveling in Kirk's mouth and arms. He pulls off again. "Jim."

Kirk sighs, but quickly schools himself to patience when he sees Spock's worried look. "What?" he asks, as gently as his balls will let him.

"If we do this, we may bond."

"Haven't we done that already?"

"Not in the way you are most likely to mean."

Kirk puts a hand on Spock's face. "Spock. T'hy'la. Am I not feeling something of that bond when I touch you?"

A tear rolls down Spock's cheek. "Yes. I am sorry."

Kirk thumbs it away. "I'm not. Unless you—"

Spock falls on him, devouring him in the deepest kiss as they stumble to the bed.

Kirk surges up as Spock bears him down against the mattress. It's odd being in this position, when he's nearly always the one doing the bearing down, but his arousal surges with him. "You got any lube?" he asks, before diving back onto Spock's mouth.

For answer, Spock thrusts a very slicked penis against him.

"Ah! God! No problem...."

"I – Ah! I take it you have—" Spock kisses Kirk's lower lip, "—all your—" and then the upper lip, "—vaccinations?" He hums against the bottom of Kirk's chin, just where it joins the throat.

"Of course," Kirk manages, writhing into position beneath Spock and moaning when Spock nibbles his earlobe. "Y-you?"

"Naturally."

"You mean that – ohh – literally, don't you?" Kirk licks his lips as Spock explores his left ear with a very hot tongue.

"Yes."

"Fan – ah – fantastic! Then I'm all yours, Mister Spo – SPOCK!"

Spock slips a slick finger inside him. How that happened, Kirk will just have to figure out later, but his imagination vastly increases his lust.

At three fingers, Kirk gasps and freezes, erection deflating a bit. "Slow down...."

Spock withdraws the third finger and holds still, moving only to stroke Kirk's face. "I am sorry."

"No." Kirk strokes Spock's cheek, in turn. "No, love. I'll be fine. This is normal, just to need a little time to adjust."

Spock's fingers stroke the psychic points on Kirk's cheek.

Kirk stares into his eyes and experiences the first fear that night. And then he nods, just once.

Spock's fingers fall into place and take Kirk's breath away.

He is with Spock, but not invaded. He can sense Spock's pleasure – his love – but does not feel like an intruder. And he knows that if he relaxes, there will be no pain. So he does.

And there isn't.

He stretches and stretches as Spock slips inside him. He feels the burn and the ache and the pressure, but it is combined with the feeling of entering and being encased, and becomes pleasurable even without Spock's shared sensation. He reaches up to kiss Spock, and they are fully joined in body and kiss and mind.

There is so much sensation – so much _feeling_ – that he can't feel how close he is, or how long it takes, or which body part of which of them is having the most fun. All he knows is that he doesn't want it ever to end. But he does know when he's coming, and he feels impossibly aroused when Spock follows just a second later, and he can feel the hotter-than-human semen flowing inside him.

And he is very pleasantly surprised when he passes his hands over Spock's lower back and Spock has a second orgasm in response.

Much, much later, as he turns over after being awakened by a misstep in the corridor outside, he feels Spock's warm, naked weight shift against him and knows that he's in trouble. Big trouble. And he wouldn't trade this for the universe.


End file.
